


Material Witness

by khaleesian



Category: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:39:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaleesian/pseuds/khaleesian
Summary: "Gallantry is not always a lackey for lust."    ....but sometimes it is.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Parhelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/gifts).



> God rest ye, merry gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay.

A stiff breeze bolting in off the Hudson pushed me up the final seven steps to the door. I am not in the habit of taking December personally and if I had been in full possession of my usual vigor the journey would not have been newsworthy. In my present state it felt like a climb up Mount Marcy.

I was through the door and coatless with only a minimum of fumbling before I noticed the light pooling out from under the office door. I did not need a clock to know that it was an un-Christian hour and a part of me wanted to eel upstairs on stocking feet, but he had called Parker when it came to the punch and I reckoned he was due an explanation, however unsatisfying he might find it. Additionally, I felt compelled to put the camera back as it wasn’t mine.

I gave Wolfe a brief nod of acknowledgement without making eye contact as I made my way to my desk. I set the parcel down carefully before stowing the camera in its drawer and locking it. The Leica was a cleverly-made device and certainly worth a week of my salary, before taxes. I couldn’t begrudge it the bruises-both to my dignity and my ribs-that it had cost me.

Having dispensed with the necessary, I gave Wolfe the better side of my face. He had his finger marking his place as he took me in, but he quickly reached for his gold bookmark. We regarded each other for a long moment. There was no case so he couldn’t demand a report and I was not particularly willing to provide him with a jumping-off point. I was not simply lacquered with a thin coat of exhaustion. It was in my fiber like the starch in a shirt.

“You left early this morning.” He observed finally.

“Harry Winston keeps holiday hours.” I returned, which would have been a cryptic observation to anyone else.

“Ah. Miss Rowan.” Wolfe cocked his head an inch to the left with the expression he uses when he wants to play at neutral benevolence. I haven’t quite gotten a bead on Wolfe’s true opinion of holiday sentiment, but at least he acknowledges it as a fact of life. He plays along after his own fashion.

“And as it was a bespoke gift, I felt it best to deliver it in person. She was so tickled that she insisted I stay for lunch.”

Wolfe gave one nod of approval, spread his elbows to the chair arms and waited.

“I walked down to Herald Square around one.” It was something of a trek, even for me. But the early afternoon had been remarkably crisp and clear. The snow hadn’t started until seven. I had spent several hours at the D.A.’s office watching it pile up in drifts.

A slight grimace passed over his face and I couldn’t blame him. Wild horses would have struggled to get me anywhere near R.H. Macy & Co in the normal course of things much less in a frantic Christmas scrum.

“You may have read that the theme of this year’s holiday display was ‘Winter Wonderland of Flowers’ and the usual suspects were out in force. It was pretty gaudy. Nine floors of low-hanging garlands and banks of ferns.”

Wolfe stifled a moue of distaste. “Why would they do such a thing?”

I took a deep breath through my nose and narrowed my eyes. At this point it was an open question whether he was having a laugh at my expense or being genuinely obtuse. “Because they’re New Yorkers. In this burg, it’s not enough just to gild a lily, you’ve got to buff it to a high hard gloss.”

He raised both eyebrows a fraction of an inch.

I sighed and said less facetiously. “Because a spectacle breeds spectators.”

“That has the flavor of a quotation. P.T. Barnum?”

I refrained from scowling, barely. “Me. People come to gawk, and most of them bring their wallets.”

“Did you attend in order to gawk?” He asked, innocent as a choir boy.

I set my teeth together. “My original intention was to snap some photos.”

Wolfe shifted his girth back and tilted his chin. I wasn’t going to explain the whys and wherefores to him, but as has been previously noted, he’s not exactly slow. I could have painted a Technicolor word picture for him of the stifling crowd and dazzling lights and the peculiar smell of crushed greenery but it would have served no purpose other than puffing his ego. In other words, no purpose at all.

He was in possession of all the facts he needed. He could easily deduce that the orchid display was at home on the first floor, a swaying profusion blooming within feet of the fine jewelry department. He knew the range finder of the Leica was as good as a telescope. I could see the edge of his copy of the evening paper peeking from under his book and news of a daring jewel heist attempted and quickly foiled under cover of holiday confusion had been all over the wireless.

Material witnesses aren’t guaranteed phone calls, even on Christmas Eve. And so after missing me at dinner, it was logical that Wolfe had called Nathaniel Parker and managed to roust him from his own festivities. Parker esq. had been distinctly red-faced as he sprang me. From cheer, not vitriol.

And Wolfe knew me. Perhaps my gut instincts are too predictable, but I can’t apologize for them. For every time they land me in a sticky spot, they keep me clear of a dozen more potential disasters.

But at this moment, with everything that Wolfe knows or suspects, my intended Christmas gift would have been distinctly anticlimactic even if my original plan hadn’t gone so spectacularly awry.

“How did you sustain your weals?” Wolfe smoothed his hand down his tie, almost as if he was mildly discomfited by my battered dishabille.

“Accomplice.” I said shortly. “Blindsided me when I tackled the bagman. I think he thought the camera was a weapon.” I rubbed my jaw which had deflected the sharpest bit of his elbow. I had spent a rather undignified couple of minutes tussling on the floor until the house dick had seen fit to put in an appearance.

“Did you manage to secure your photograph?” One corner of Wolfe’s mouth tightened in sympathy.

“The D.A. confiscated the film,” I admitted glumly. “I had to fight like hell to keep the camera.”

I freed my prize from its paper parcel and stood up to set it on his desk. I was starting to stiffen up and so I didn’t quite manage a flourish. “It wasn’t a total loss. Macy’s kept their diamonds, so they were happy to part with this.”

After a moment’s pause, Wolfe shifted all his weight forward to admire the double bloom. He even stroked his finger over what looked like the orchid’s moustache. “A new hybrid of Phragmipedium sargintianum?”

It was my turn to nod. “They’re calling it ‘the Sorcerer’s Apprentice’.”

“How apt.” He shot me a penetrating glance that lasted so long I found myself sinking into the red leather chair. He’s not the only one who likes eyes at a level. We spent another moment regarding each other. When he spoke again, it was in a lower register.

“A delicate masterpiece.” He stood up slowly. “But I am also an admirer of more robust inflorescence.”

It took me a minute to unravel that as I pushed myself upright. “Well coming from the mean streets of Chillicothe, I’m not exactly a hothouse flower.”

“Indeed.” I could feel the warmth of his hand in the small of my back. I didn’t make a peep when he herded me into the elevator. I may even have leaned into him a bit. His hand was broad and heavy with the promise of comfort and perhaps even some joy.


End file.
